


Losing My Religion

by hypothetical_chainsaw



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, set early part 3, the good old days when Lilith was queen and we still had hope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26977618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypothetical_chainsaw/pseuds/hypothetical_chainsaw
Summary: As newly appointed High Priestess, it seems all decisions land on Zelda Spellman's desk. Shaping a new faction of the Church, handling Academy matters, and juggling whatever her relationship with their new deity is are proving a little too much to consider all at once.A response to the Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge week two prompt - a change of heart
Relationships: Zelda Spellman/Mary Wardwell | Madam Satan | Lilith
Comments: 11
Kudos: 33
Collections: Madam Spellman Fictober Challenge





	Losing My Religion

**Author's Note:**

> Set shortly after Lilith takes her seat as rightful Queen of Hell, when Faustus/the Dark Lord languishes in the Witch's Cell.

After numerous trips to the High Priest's office, both as punishment for poor behaviour during her own Academy years and for an entirely different brand of _punishment_ during her husband’s sovereignty, one might assume that Zelda Spellman had gained a certain familiarity with the room. She had. She knew where every aged book sat upon the bookcase, knew which floorboards creaked under pressure and she knew the spot that enjoyed the very last remnants of the setting sun each evening.

She also knew, however, where her first High Priest had admonished her for daring to suggest that her studies could ever be as valued as her brothers, where Edward had explained time and again that the only thing she could hope for as a result of her continued suggestions during faculty meetings was a dismissal from her position following enough complaints, and where Faustus had bid her stand as their elders discussed her nephew’s execution.

As such, a conflicting sense of unease and pride battled within her each time she took her position behind what was now her desk. A quarter of a millennia of memories filled these walls and she could only hope that, given enough time as it’s new occupant, those that cried ‘imposter’ would be drowned out by the many that should remind her of her competence.

Today it was the former that was winning; the Academy timetable she’d been planning all weekend still sitting unfinished before her doing little to quell the doubts flaring in the darkest recesses of her mind. She knew her capabilities, her limits. That organisational prowess was not top amongst her talents had rarely been an issue before, but syllabus planning when the only qualified teacher was herself was proving challenging.

She sighed heavily. A solution would have to be found before the current term ended next week. To think she could focus on protecting a severely diminished coven as well as continuing to teach 90% of their curriculum was foolish at best, and potentially fatal for them as a whole at worst.

“Mother Spellman?” A small knock sounded from the other side of the door. _Agatha_.

Zelda sighed, setting her pen down. Since her little beetle-prompted outburst, the girl had been sent on increasingly frequent trips to Zelda’s office by Hilda. Admittedly, each interruption was only ever a minor task or question, but Zelda’s patience was wearing thin at such a heavy handed attempt at forcing a line to be drawn under the situation. Witches fought, they had magic-induced moments of hysteria, if Agatha hadn’t come to understand that reality by now, they were doing nothing to help her with this mollycoddling.

Regardless, as a second knock sounded Zelda gave a quick wave of her hand, prompting the door to fly open with a little too much vigour to suggest a warm welcome. Taking in Agatha’s shell shocked expression, Zelda inhaled deeply and worked to soften her own features; perhaps a little more delicate treatment would be admissible in the short term.

“How can I help?”

The question was truly ridiculous. She could help by completing class timetables and working out how exactly, with only her family as faculty, she could effectively meet the academic needs of students whose ability differences reflected the sixty year age gap between the oldest and youngest of them. Not dealing with whatever triviality her sister saw fit to send the young witch to her with.

“A letter arrived that Sister Spellman thought you ought to see immediately.” Her voice was still meeker than it had been in months past, but Agatha stepped forward with a seemingly stronger confidence as she tapped the letter against her other hand as proof of its existence.

“Sister Spellman could do with learning a little about what constitutes an urgent matter.” Nevertheless, she held out her hand expectantly, eyes already returning to the half finished chart on her desk.

“It has the Dark Vatican’s seal, Mother Spellman.”

Though her eyes remained downcast towards her work, nothing could be further from Zelda’s mind at that very moment. Surely Hilda’s masquerade as Faustus had removed any need for another council visit so soon.

The glossy envelope was placed in her hand, address side up, wax seal scratching against her palm. It was light at least; less likely to be a formal reprimand if it contained only a sheet or two of paper. Eyes flicking to it as she lowered it to the desk’s surface, the intended recipient yelled out at her in an languorously looped script: _Dark Reverend Faustus Blackwood._ She assumed it had not arrived via the US postal service bearing such a title. They had likely sent their own courier.

“Thank you, Agatha.” Zelda nodded, hand rubbing against her thigh in an attempt to rid it of the tingle that had started in it upon holding such a blatant reminder of her husband in its grasp, “How did it arrive?”

Agatha gave a noncommittal shrug, “Sister Spellman had it after her afternoon walk.”

Her sister’s afternoon walks only took her to one place; the Witch’s Cell with whatever sustenance she’d decided Blackwood would require to keep the Dark Lord contained, as though it were his choice. Zelda had refused to involve herself. If the council’s location spells could find him, it seemed she would have no choice but to at least acknowledge his existence beneath them.

Realising the girl still stood before her like a bellhop awaiting their tip, Zelda dismissed her with a smile as warm as she could manage and reached for the ivory letter opener. Lilith grant her the fortitude required for whatever incursion the council was intending now.

* * *

If ever there was a reminder of just how far their order had fallen, it was the pitiful numbers that filed into the pews for Black Mass. Where it had once been somewhat of an invitation only event to insure those coven members most in need of that particular sermon were able to fill the limited space (Zelda had been particularly put out to her regularly mandated attendance at all detailing the damnation occurring as a result of a witch’s pride) their congregation now barely filled half the church.

Zelda stood before the pulpit in what still felt like borrowed robes, assessing the sorry state of the crowd. Her family sat in the first row, as they had done since Zelda’s self-appointment as High Priestess the previous month. She had almost asked them not to, after Hilda’s proffered thumbs-up of support with each glance in her direction, but had allowed it to continue uncurbed for the time being. At least it suggested someone was listening.

In truth, she had yet to decide how she should conduct her sermons. Though they were now the Church of Lilith, every service she had ever attended within these walls had centred around the teachings of the Dark Lord’s will. Her frequent returns to their Satanic Bible had proved equally fruitless; even tales of Lilith’s time at Lucifer’s side seeming warped far beyond what she could believe willing behaviour of her lover. Her admission of this, in the middle of a post-coital haze, is what prompted the appearance of the demoness now slipping in through the ajar door. She had offered it as a show of support but it felt more like an assessment.

Gulping back the fluttering that now filled her as the woman settled on a shadowed pew at the back Zelda began, “Good evening.”

A chorus of “Good evening, Mother Spellman.” Greeted her, the acoustics in the church doing much to amplify the few voices into something of a crowd.

“Our place within the wider church has been cause for great concern amongst many of you in recent weeks. It has not, as I’m sure you can understand, been considered a key priority while returning the Academy and church runnings to some semblance of normality.” Hell she hated this. It sounded rehearsed even to her own ears, but the knowledge that their deity would be in attendance gave her little room for error, “With our Dark Cardinals due to conduct their tour of the North American covens next month, we will, as is customary, extend a warm welcome to them. The Church of Lilith will follow their guidance on how we can mould our new beliefs to best fit with wider infernal teachings. Though I expect you’ll all be happy to know that all church-wide festivities will be continuing as usual, including the annual initiation into the Dark Brotherhood. Any warlock who wishes to enter the trials must submit themselves for consideration before next week’s end.”

They couldn’t afford to lose another warlock to the gruesome fate that would befall them should they fail any of the trials, but when revealing that they had adopted a new deity entirely they also couldn’t afford othering themselves any further in the eyes of their Dark superiors.

A small murmur passed through the assembled congregation, none of it distinguishable enough to ascertain their exact thoughts, but the general sentiment of it seemed less than pleased. _Marvellous._

As quietly as she had arrived, Lilith disappeared - in an overly conspicuous puff of smoke. _Hell,_ she was only that dramatic when she was truly furious.

Snapping open her Satanic Bible with a louder than necessary thud, Zelda drew attention back to her, a sea of guilty faces staring back at her. She’d found one acceptable passage for her sermon today and she’d be damned if she’d let the announcement detract from it.

“Now, if you’ll turn to page 368, I’d like to talk today about the first ‘born’ demon. I think we could all do with a reminder of why the Mother of Demons is the strength our small coven needs to survive.” Herself included.

* * *

Black Mass had been over for well over an hour before Zelda finally returned to the mortuary. If she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t certain if she was hoping Lilith would be waiting for her or not.

She was right to be concerned, it seemed; her nephew’s smirk as he leant against the porch column telling her everything she needed to know. He loved a good drama.

“She’s here then?” Zelda questioned, steeling herself for the confrontation that meant.

Ambrose nodded, jabbing his thumb towards his aunts’ bedroom window, “Have you prepared a will?” His grin only broadened as she brushed past him, “I’d make a great beneficiary.”

“Ambrose, do remember that as quickly as a High Priest ended your house arrest, a High Priestess can reinstate it.” Zelda bristled.

The door slammed hard in its frame behind her and whatever choice comeback he undoubtedly fired off was lost behind it as she forged on up the staircase. For what should have been a midwinter evening, the mortuary sweltered like the fires of Hell. _Like the fires of Hell._ She should have brought the whiskey up with her, a mortal sacrifice, anything to soothe the ire awaiting her behind her bedroom door.

Taking a steadying breath, Zelda pushed open the door, not daring to cross the threshold before being certain exactly what awaited her. If the warmth of the corridor had been stifling, the heat radiating from the bedroom was unbearable. And yet Lilith sat cooly in its centre, flicking absentmindedly through that morning’s _Greendale Herald_. Singe marks littered the pages edges where her fingers had grasped each one.

“You took your time.” Lilith’s voice was more nonchalant than Zelda had ever heard it, her eyes never leaving the paper.

To say it made Zelda uneasy would be an understatement. Hearing Ambrose’s footsteps on the staircase to her side, Zelda made the ill-advised decision to step into the room sealing herself in with a demon who could be a loose cannon at the best of times, let alone when vexed.

“Something keeping you?” The question was loaded, no doubt about that.

“Lilith I-”

“Your conscience perhaps? It couldn’t be fear or even regret given how fickle your loyalties seem to be.”

Never had Zelda felt more like the schoolgirl standing in front of a disappointed High Priest that she had once been. Her palms were clammy and whether from the severe heat or the intensity of the situation she wasn’t certain. If the burning of her face was anything to go by, it was likely her cheeks were flushed too. That couldn’t be helped.

She jutted her chin forward defiantly, tempering her tone to match Lilith’s, “Just how much of my religion do you expect me to reject?”

That caught her attention. Lilith’s eyes flicked up to meet Zelda’s, their icy blue stealing all oxygen from the fiery room.

“You rejected it all the moment you named yourself High Priestess of the _Church of Lilith._ ” Her imitation of Zelda was far too good for someone who hadn’t had two centuries of cigarettes aiding them in perfecting that husk.

“Please,” Zelda huffed, fingers of her left hand tapping against her opposite arm as they folded across her chest, “A change of name is hardly cause for a full text rewrite. To be excommunicated from the wider church would be-”

“Following through with what you’ve already set in motion.” At that Lilith rose, paper discarded by her heels.

Her slow steps towards Zelda were absolute agony, the witch’s resolve weakening with every inch gained. When they stood a hair’s breadth from each other, the warmth of Lilith’s breath fluttering against her own lips, Zelda signed resignedly.

“You saw our numbers today, Lilith. We’re vulnerable. I could barely keep them safe from my own husband. To go it alone against the entire church would be our ruin.” Vulnerability did not become Zelda in her own eyes, and she hurriedly lit a cigarette to distract from such a candid admission.

“Surely a deity with a vested interest is enough to keep her own ragtag little group of turncoat witches safe?”

The chill of Lilith’s touch as she traced a finger over the witch’s cheekbone, in stark contrast to the heat of the room, startled Zelda and she drew her eyes back from her cigarette, taking in the unnaturally kind smile the demoness met her with.

“Zelda, you trusted Lucifer implicitly. Why is this any different?” Lilith’s hand settled to cup Zelda’s jaw, somehow both possessive and comforting in equal measure.

Zelda’s nose crinkled with the threat of tears forming. Though not a single one fell, her voice was thick with them when she spoke, “To lose the Dark Lord would be to lose a leader. To lose you…” She trailed off, pulling deeply from her cigarette.

“I denied the False God’s orders when he bade me submit to man.” Ever so gently, she tilted Zelda’s head revealing the plane of her neck and placed a kiss where it met her collarbone, “And I survived. I nursed the Dark Lord back to health and stood by his side through millennia of his questionable demands.” The second kiss was higher up, and Zelda had no doubt Lilith could feel the hastening of the witch’s pulse beneath her lips, “And I survived. I betrayed him, not only to save myself, but the few witches that remained under your protection.”

That was new information. They’d never discussed Lilith’s motivation for assisting them but self preservation had seemed the reigning reason in Zelda’s eyes. There was little time to consider this further however, as the demoness’ lips pressed against the curve of Zelda’s jawline, eliciting a shiver.

“And I survived. A group of aged warlocks whose God is languishing in the Witch’s Cell?” Her breath ghosted across the curve of Zelda’s ear and the witch couldn’t fight the pleasure-fueled shuttering of her eyes, “Do you think I’ll be able to manage?”

Lilith drew back a whisper, the heat in the room changing rapidly to the devilish thrum of Zelda’s preferred form of tension. Despite the hit of desire, she needed desperately to be certain. Her fingers danced lackadaisically across the back of the demoness’ hand at her neck.

“You _can_ cope?” Zelda searched for any signs of doubt in Lilith’s eyes. They remained clear.

“I can cope.” Lilith affirmed, more genuine than Zelda had ever heard her, “It’s not all on you. Not this time.”

Nodding sharply, Zelda wove the hand not holding her cigarette in Lilith’s hair, voice soft, “I’ll deny the council’s visit in the morning.”

Lilith placed an open mouth kiss against the inside of Zelda’s wrist; the type that regularly made Zelda’s knees give. The High Priestess held as strongly as she could, leaning forward a touch to rest her weight against Lilith just in case.

A moan escaped her lips and she let out a throaty chuckle at the suddenness of it, “Praise Lilith.” She smirked, ever appreciative of the responses her lover could pull from her.

“Hmm, and maybe we should work on a few new sermons for you. The whole congregation could do with hearing their High Priestess give praise more often. It seems your deity’s quite the fan.”

“Anything you want, _my Queen._ ” Zelda purred, seconds before she was pinned against the door with a thud, Ambrose’s fast retreating footsteps just audible from the other side.

* * *

As the Desecrated Church filled for their Sunday morning Black Mass, Zelda toyed with the high neck of her dress, resituating it high enough to cover the speckled bruising of lovebitten skin that sat beneath it. Ambrose’s eyebrow wiggles across the breakfast table had left her in no doubt that it had been on display as she sipped her coffee earlier.

Spotting him in the first row, she fixed him with a stern glare as a peel of laughter burst from him in the pews at the sight of her adjustment. He swallowed it down, miming zipped lips.

A telltale tap of stilettos against the stone flooring at the back of the church pulled Zelda’s attention. If Lilith made many more appearances they were going to spark rumours. Regardless, Zelda had to admit, she was grateful for her surprisingly calming presence.

“Good morning.” Zelda’s voice carried over the murmur of the crowd.

The hum of voices joined to a monotone “Good morning, Mother Spellman.”

Zelda caught Lilith’s eyes watching for her reassuring nod before smirking softly and addressing the congregation, “Praise Lilith, it seems we’ve had a change of heart.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and I do hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought and all comments and kudos are so appreciated!


End file.
